I felt like the weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. The fight I knew we’d have was done, and we’d survived without too much bleeding. “Why don’t you tell her yourself tomorrow? I’ll get her to call you and say Merry Christmas.”
“I’d like that.”
My dad could be a gruff old man, but when it came to his granddaughter, he was a marshmallow. Right from the start he’d been like that. When she was born, he’d made a bet with me that he wouldn’t cry when he met her for the first time. He thought he was tough, and nothing could bring him to tears because real men don’t cry. He was so stubbornly confident he’d bet one hundred thousand dollars on it. As he walked through the door to my private room in the hospital, he handed me a check as he reached for her. From thatmoment, he’d been a sucker, and I couldn’t imagine that ever changing.
“Okay then. Dad, I have to go. I just got out of the shower and need to get dressed before Chris comes home …”
I knew my mistake as the words came out of my mouth.
“Chris? Who the fuck is Chris, Holly? And where the hell are you staying?”
six
CHRIS
I’d leftHolly to wrangle her daughter, offering to run to the store. I told her I wasn’t worried about the storm front coming in, but that wasn’t entirely true. I’d lived in Evergreen Lake long enough to have endured this before and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Leaving them upstairs, I went down to my workshop and started to clean up the office. Although it was my mess, tidying it up wasn’t at the top of my to-do list, but suddenly, it seemed it was a priority.
An hour later, I’d emptied the trash, wiped the desk, filed away all of the paperwork, and tossed all the dirty clothes out. When I checked my stockpile of wood in the corner, the groan strangled from the back of my throat annoyed me. It would be enough for a few hours, but I had a feeling we were going to need more. A lot more.
I stomped over to the corner, pulled on my jacket, and changed my shoes. If I had to haul in wood to keep that fire burning, the last thing I needed to do was get wet.
I cursed my lack of gloves with the first load.
The second, I almost slipped on ice and ended up on my ass.
The third, I swore would be my last.
The fourth, I could barely feel my nose.
The fifth, the tips of my ears stung as the wind whipped around me.
The sixth, I was done.
It would be enough to get us through the night if it came to that, but we’d need more if it went longer. I yanked, pulled, and cursed until the tarp was back in place, keeping the wood pile dry before going back inside.
“That’ll do,” I told myself, checking it one last time.
If we ended up having to come down here, we’d have to bring blankets and pillows, but that wouldn’t be an issue. Bedding, on the other hand.
A charcoal gray couch was against one wall that Noelle could sleep on—she was the only one of us who’d fit and have any chance at all of being comfortable. I had an inflatable air mattress in the storage area above the office, but I only had one. Holly and I would have to share. There wasn’t another choice that I could see. No one could sleep on the floor. Even though it was carpeted, that wouldn’t be enough to stop the cold from seeping through the concrete and into your bones.
It won’t come to that, I promised myself, flicking off the office lights and heading out to my truck.
I jumped in and blasted the heat, trying to thaw my frozen fingers and wondering where the hell I’d left my gloves.
The radio station crackled, and when I tried to change it, the others were no better.
“Storm front moving in ... seen the worst of it yet … batten down the hatches …” I couldn’t really make out what he was saying but I heard enough. This storm was a doozy, and it was about to ruin Christmas.
“Not on my fucking watch,” I declared as I backed out onto the street. The wipers were working overtime, trying to keepthe windshield clear so I could see. Thankfully, I knew my way to the store like the back of my hand.
I kept focused making sure I didn’t hit anything I shouldn’t. The gutters were buried under drifts of snow, and the only lines were the slushy tracks from the tires that had passed before me.
I pulled up out the front and got a park right at the door. I peered through the windshield hoping they were still open. I hadn’t really thought about what I’d do if they’d already closed for the night. Thankfully, the lights were still on.
I jumped out of the truck and ducked inside, stomping the snow from my boots on the mat.
